


Call Me Home

by Havenlyfics



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1980s, Angst and Tragedy, Baby Dean Winchester, Character Death, Contracts, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Death, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, OOCCrowley, Out of Character, Reader is a rockstar, Reader-Insert, Set in the Past, Storms, Unrequited Love, but here we are, probably too much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 14:19:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17427539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havenlyfics/pseuds/Havenlyfics
Summary: The Reader's time has run out, much to the dismay of a certain someone.Set in the past - first time writing SPN fiction! Here goes!





	Call Me Home

The crowds were tired but patient that hot Georgia day; they'd been waiting for her since sun had broke, hoping to catch a glimpse or get a picture before she left their city. She'd sold out the local theatre five nights straight, people coming from all over to hear her sing; and this was the second last stop of the tour. If they didn't see her now, they wouldn't get the chance.   
  
They didn't realize how right they were.   
  
Y/N stared down at the crowd below from her room's window. The valet had brought her night blue Challenger around, and they were expecting her departure soon. She worried for them; she worried for all the souls she'd met who'd sworn her music had saved them. Would they be okay, once it happened? She had to believe they would be. There was no stopping what was about to occur. She knew the date all too well; and time was ticking down.   
  
She packed up her prized Gibson into its case, clicking the locks. Her luggage was already being shipped to her destination, a place she would never see. She'd decided she'd take the guitar with her; it'd been in her hands that fateful night 10 years ago, and it seemed only right it be with her now. Her first and last companion.   
  
What a decade she'd been granted; the world knew her now, her songs, her voice. She was a household name to some, her bewitching timbre wafting into the hearts of thousands; it'd been exactly what she'd asked for. With the fame had come power, and she'd used it well; she'd used her status to support the downtrodden, her riches to fund charities and finance galas in support of her preferred causes. She'd met her fair share of fans who's lives had changed completely because of her intervention, and they praised her for it, named her an angel; all the while having no idea what less than heavenly lengths she'd gone to for her noteriety. But she didn't mind it; merely smiled and thanked, signed and posed for pictures. It didn't matter how small a window it was; it was what she'd done with her time, not simply how long it'd been.   
  
As the doors of the hotel opened, her ears were met with the sounds of cheering and applause for the last time. She fought down the tears in favor of her megawatt smile, waving and shaking hands. A few fans had brought posters, cassette tapes for her to sign; she was glad to. Let them have those, let them keep some joy. She made her way down like it was a receiving line, thanking each and every soul for coming out; it felt as if she was attending her own funeral, but she was glad to have them there. She would miss it, where she was headed. Just as she opened the passenger side door, ready to place her Gibson in its rightful place, a small hand caught her sleeve. She looked down to see a beaming young face, a little boy no older than six, clutching one of her tapes like it were gold. He was a little disheveled, and she couldn't see a parent in sight; he had her attention immediately.   
  
"Hey kiddo," she murmured, crouching to his level; his bright green eyes were sparkling like gems, overjoyed. "Thanks for bravin' the heat to come n' see me today."   
  
He grinned back, a tooth freshly coming into his mouth. "Y-you're welcome!" He babbled sweetly, fumbling with his tape as she chuckled; he was a little sweetheart. "C-could you sign this? Please?"   
  
She took the tape and pulled out a pen from her back pocket; the cassette was a single, one she'd released some years back. She smirked at the title - _'Call me Home'_.   
  
"Who can I make this out to?" She asked, meeting the boy's excited eyes again.   
  
"C-can it be to John?" He replied, toeing at the ground with mussed boots. "It's for my dad; he said this was my mom's favorite."   
  
The way the boy spoke, she had a feeling his mom wasn't around to have favorites anymore; she nodded, scrawling a quick message and her name. It struck her this was the last autograph she'd ever sign. She wished she had some way to make it more special; but as the gap toothed boy grinned at her, she counted herself lucky that this interaction be her last. Something that truly mattered. 

"Here you are, champ," she handed the tape back, the kid practically bouncing out of his boots with delight. "Hope your daddy likes it. He's a lucky man to have such a great kid like you."  
  
Eyes that spoke of a pain he couldn't voice met hers again, and the boy was silent for a moment, then she almost tumbled back as he threw his little arms around her neck, squeezing tightly, hugging her for all his worth. She choked back a sob at the last contact she'd have with a human, the sweet hug of a well meaning little boy. She hugged him back, hoping to imbue into him all her remaining strength, the last fibers of resilience left in her, all the hopes she still had but had accepted as never happening for her. She hoped goodness for those she left behind.   
  
But time was ticking, and storm clouds were brewing. It was time to go.   
  
"Afraid I gotta head out," she muttered to the boy, ruffling his blond shock of hair. "Thank you... thank you for listenin', champ."  
  
He didn't stop grinning as she pulled away, settling her signature instrument into its seat. "Thank you for singing!"   
  
She laughed, but a cold had filled her chest. She'd made fresh eye contact now, with a pair of familiar dark orbs across the street. In his suit and overcoat he looked so ridiculously out of place, but he never cared about that. She knew that about him. He gave a slight nod, which she returned, as she broke their stare to climb into the driver's seat. She had a long road ahead of her, and he was counting down just as she was.  
  
The engine hummed to life, and Y/N, international icon, would never be seen alive again.

____________________

  
  
She'd let the radio keep her company as the storm rolled in, fat raindrops muffled by the hum of Joplin on the airwaves. The lush greenery of Georgia had given way to dusty highways ages ago, but still the rain had followed her; a part of her wondered if it was coincidence or his powerful hand causing it, but she supposed it didn't matter anymore. Earthly weather patterns weren't her concern. The radio began to fuzz, static taking over, and though she toyed with the dial, she knew it wasn't because she was out of range; she was down to her last few minutes.   
  
And she wasn't alone.   
  
His presence brought the scent of sulphur, hidden by expensive cologne; he'd favored some french brand for the last five years. He watched her from the backseat, her eyes trained on the watery road ahead. It didn't bother him any, he knew she was well aware he'd come to collect.   
  
"Hello darling."   
  
Prepared as she was, ready to let go, it didn't keep a chill from shuddering down her spine; his accent and deep voice always had that effect, but perhaps that was simply because she knew it wasn't truly his.   
  
"Crowley," she greeted in a whisper, letting silence hang between them for a few moments. They'd always been comfortable in silence together, content to let the nothingness envelope them; but there wasn't much time left for comfort. "The sky came to cry for me, see?"   
  
His dark chuckle bubbled from the back seat, watching tears well in her own eyes. "Mourning an idol," he declared, studying the slow, silent drips down her cheeks. "You and your bleeding heart. Only an insufferable saint like you would take a deal with the devil and use it to do God's work."  
  
He'd found a talent in making her laugh early on. She wiped her eyes, still not giving him a glance. "It was quite the deal; had to get my money's worth," the sadness in her voice was palpable; but Y/N was a woman of her word, to the last. "And I know how it rubbed you wrong, seeing all this demon power doing good in the world. I couldn't resist."   
  
"Cheeky." he admonished, clicking his tongue; he was glad to tease, as he was in no mood to confront what he was feeling about this particular deal. When pretty young Y/N had come to that crossroads, all long hair and denim and stars in her eyes, she'd been just another contract; but ten years can change a person.  
  
Change the way you look at them. 

His eyes tried to track hers in the mirror, but she wouldn't catch his gaze; he felt her pain nonetheless. "Romancing fans right til the end, no less," he referenced her earlier activities, doting on her starstruck onlookers. "You used every last second since that kiss, didn't you, love?"   
  
Her lips twitched in a smile, the sensation of his burning kiss still lingered even still. "I... I hope I did enough," she confessed; she realized the irony, in confessing to a demon, but who else would hear it? "It... it went by faster than I thought it would."  
  
"Yes," he hummed, toying with a cufflink. "It always does," his hand, warm and familiar, fell to her tensed shoulder. "You did just fine, darling. More than many of my selfish, narcissist clients can boast."   
  
Finally, her eyes met his brown ones in her rear view mirror; there was an apology that swam in them, one she knew he wouldn't, couldn't voice. Crossroads demons weren't meant to pal around with humans, much less the ones they struck contracts with; and it'd been years since they were simply pals.   
  
But it was coming to an end. Not even he could stop that.   
  
"Will it hurt?" Her voice was barely audible, hands tight around the steering wheel. She'd done all she could now; nothing but the inevitable waited for her.   
  
"Only for a moment," he replied, almost breathless; he hated the feeling swimming in his mortal suit's chest, knowing that emotion was his own. His warm digits squeezed her shoulder, and she sucked in one of her last breaths. "I'll be right here, darling."  
  
She smiled and closed her eyes, he hands dropping from the steering; it was time to let fate take over. One hand crept up over his, grasping tightly; maybe it too would say all the things she never had. "I know."

____________________

  
  
She watched as her beloved Challenger - part of the deal - burned before her. Twisted around a massive boulder on the side of the road, the beautiful car was a mangled mess of what it once was. Motor oil sourced flames fought against the rain to flicker on, further damaging the corpse within; not that she felt any of that. Crowley had been truthful; and with the snap of her neck she'd died on impact. It was the last kindness she'd ever know; they didn't have kindness where she was going.   
  
"The tragic life of a rock star," Crowley quipped from behind her. She turned, some sad happiness filling her that he was still there, that he'd be the one to send her off. She wouldn't have wanted it any other way. "Taken so young."   
  
"Can't help when we're called home, Crowley," his face softened; he knew the song she was referencing by heart. Her vision rose to the pouring rain, which was overtaking the fire of her wreck. "Too bad about my Gibson."   
  
She heard the telltale snap of his fingers and turned back to him, only to find him holding her guitar out expectantly. "I may be a demon of foulest hell," he smirked as she gripped the neck of the instrument, pulling it close. "But even I know it'd be a travesty to destroy Y/N's classic guitar. You opened at the Beacon with the damned thing!"  
  
Of course he remembered that - he'd been there that night. She brandished her Gibson, expert fingers plucking at the strings; the first few chords of their beloved _'Call me Home'_. Her eyes found his again, a knowing smile on both their faces. "One more for the road?"   
  
His grin was genuine. "Nothing would please me more."   
  
She nodded, playing the delicate twang of her folksy hit, the words coming easily.   
  
_'Oh there's this man I know,_  
  
_He's never there for long,_  
  
_But I find each time I go_  
  
_I feel him when he's gone,'_   
  
She'd always had an incredible voice; and if talent alone were enough to make it in the record industry, he'd never have kissed her. But there they stood, old souls swaying to the last song she'd ever sing.   
  
_'He's lookin' a little tired_  
  
_A little worse for wear_  
  
_And heaven knows I heard_  
  
_He could use some lovin' care,'_

She'd slipped that line in for him; the uneducated ear just heard her beautiful music in that lyric, where she'd gone out of her way to tease him. That's just who they were to each other. Who they once were.   
  
_'His soles might be worn through_  
  
_And I don't know where next he'll go,_  
  
_But if he feels what I do_  
  
_Then he can always call me home._  
  
_There's miles on the road he walks_  
  
_One he has to walk alone_  
  
_But when the two of us have our talks_  
  
_He can always call me home.'_  
  
The heart he didn't have was breaking; he could care less about the world she was leaving behind, but once the deal was done, that was it. The hierarchy of Hell meant he'd likely never set eyes on her again, never hear that voice, see her addictive smile; but once she got down there, he doubted she'd ever smile again. Her soul was gentle, giving; it wouldn't take long before it would shatter.   
  
He hated that he knew that about her, hated that he'd give anything in that moment to bring her back, undo the deal, something that would save her. He hated that he'd let himself feel so haphazardly, so carelessly.  
  
So much he hated in that instance of loving her. All as her sweet, sorrowful voice danced on the wind.   
  
_'And when my own legs give way_  
  
_And time has chilled me to the bone,_  
  
_I know he won't be far away_  
  
_Callin'... yeah he's callin' me home.'_   
  
The last chord hung in the air, vibrating in their ears as she ended their song. The water drenched both their cheeks, hers accompanied by tears as she stepped closer to him; she couldn't stay there forever. She was a woman of her word.   
  
"Thank you for listenin', Crowley," she murmured, setting her guitar down before sliding her hands up his arms in practiced fashion. She gazed up at his face of regret, flicking a glance at the lips that would send her away. She gripped him tightly, swallowing down the urge to beg and plead. She leaned up on her toes. "Thank you for everything..."   
  
"No," he stopped her, grasping her own arms to settle her back. His face had turned to frustration, fury at their situation. He was wracking his brain, trying to find some way to save her, give her the extra seconds she deserved. "N-not yet, please-- I can find a different way, I-I can find you a place in Hell--"   
  
"Crowley," she scolded, cupping his stubbled cheek. "My lifeless body is currently bleeding and cooking over there. There's not much to be done about that," she sighed, somehow the voice of reason on the day she died. "I knew how this would end when I summoned you. I know where I go, I know what's due, and I won't have you throwing away what you've worked towards for so long. Please," she implored him, seeing the defeat and acceptance fall into his features. "Please, kiss me."   
  
He swallowed hard, his hands cupping her waist, fingertips stroking the small of her back as he'd always wanted to. "I wish it were different," he whispered, the cold of her soul so close to the warmth of his. "I wish I could..."   
  
"I know," she assured him; she knew what he wanted, as it was what she wished for too. Words were absent then, as both knew what the other yearned for, but could never grant. He admonished himself for making her be the reasonable one in their embrace, but yet again, such wishes would go unheard. There was nobody left to hear them. "It's time to collect, sweetheart. I'm a woman of my word. I know what I gave you."   
  
He nodded, giving in. One hand strung through her soaked hair, guiding her to his kiss; one then, one now, a lifetime in between. He could feel the chill of her lips just as she got in the last words she'd ever speak.   
  
"I love you."   


Before he could pull away, the kiss was sealed; and for a few moment, it all seemed bearable. He held her tightly, mouths molding to the other's touch as if old lovers, who'd kissed a thousand times before. He'd never forget the taste of her; there was no flavor to liken it to, but it would only ever be her. The kiss was almost bruising, as baser urges that weren't meant to be there nearly took over; the want she had once inspired nearly turned to need, his touch on her skin like the fire she'd soon call home. It burned her, but she only wanted more. They both did, a fierce craving they'd first tasted so many years ago, a wanton hunger for everything the other could never provide. All that desire, love, sorrow wrapped in that one, vicious, irreplaceable kiss...   
  
And then he was holding nothing. His arms were empty, hands cool from the rain, breath stolen away by the soul he'd just condemned. There was nothing left but a few material belongings and a broken heart. He cursed to the empty expanse of road and sky and smoke, for the noone who could hear it, to his own ears. What he wouldn't have given for a few more seconds.  
  
But there was nothing now. Just a storm and a tragic death. She was gone.   
  
If all he had planned, all he was working for came to fruition, he would see her again; she topped his list there. He'd pull her from the pit himself, save her soul in his twisted, Hell born way, and love her as he wished he'd told her so.   
  
But there was nothing now. Only him, alone, listening to a voice carried off by the wind.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been kicking around in my brain a few weeks; know this is more than out of character, but I couldn't help it! 
> 
> Leave a comment/kudos if you liked it!


End file.
